


Take Me Back Home (The Place Where I Belong)

by whenshewrites



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alpha Derek Hale, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Derek Hale Deserves Nice Things, Derek Hale is a Softie, Domestic Bliss, Domestic Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Get Together, Idiots in Love, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Sheriff Stilinski Feels, Sheriff Stilinski's Name is John, Stiles Stilinski is a Little Shit, Stiles Stilinski is a Tease, The Pack Ships It
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-27
Updated: 2020-07-01
Packaged: 2021-03-03 19:34:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,214
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24940888
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whenshewrites/pseuds/whenshewrites
Summary: When Derek's loft gets flooded, Stiles is saddled up with the resident grumpy Alpha werewolf.But it's only for a few days, right?
Relationships: Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski
Comments: 57
Kudos: 995
Collections: My amazing all time favourites.





	1. Chapter 1

The thing is, Stiles didn’t know how Derek Hale got into his house.

Okay, he did. He knew exactly how Derek Hale had come into his house with a suitcase, a sour expression, and a faint hint of murder in his eyes. He just didn’t know how this was his life. Or how he was the lucky resident of Beacon Hills who got to house the grumpiest Alpha werewolf to ever grace the town with his eyebrows.

Derek’s loft got flooded. Because apparently, the piping system in that place sucked. It wasn’t like Stiles hadn’t mentioned that to Derek before, but no one ever listened to him until after things went to shit.

Which was why Derek Hale was at his house. With a suitcase. Looking grumpy.

It was all his dad’s fault.

“We’re glad to have you, Derek,” the Sheriff said, a polite smile on his lips. Standing at the man’s side, Stiles rolled his eyes, and Derek’s frown deepened as he noticed that. Then he turned his gaze toward the Sheriff and smiled. Actually smiled.

It was unnatural.

“I appreciate the offer, sir,” Derek said, pearly whites showing. “But if it’s too much trouble, I can always rent out a motel room for the next week or so—”

“You might be here for a  _ week or so?”  _ Stiles burst out. His dad gave him a chastising look and Derek’s eyebrows turned much more murderous again.

“If it’s not too much trouble.”

“Of course, it’s not too much trouble,” the Sheriff said, cuffing Stiles over the back of the head. “We have a guest room that’s been gathering dust for years anyway. Stiles, would you show Derek upstairs and get him settled in?”

“We have a guest room because you tried to turn it into a gym and then pretended didn’t exist after two weeks,” Stiles said in a grumble. When his dad shot him a warning look, he sighed and gave Derek his best winning smile. “Come on then, Sourwolf, let me give you a tour of the house. I’m sure it’ll all be very new, seeing as you never use a door when dropping by.”

The Sheriff’s eyes turned squinty and Stiles grinned. With a red face, Derek shoved by and started up the stairs. Stiles practically skipped after him.

See, this was all his dad’s fault. Derek got his loft flooded, Erica crashed with Boyd and his grandmother, Isaac went with Scott, and Derek was the odd one out. And then Stiles’s dad said they had to be good samaritans or whatever, and help out.

So now Derek was here. Possibly for the next few days. Possibly for the next few weeks.

Stiles was so… excited. Yeah, that’s what he was.

“You don’t want me here,” Derek said, the moment the door of the guest bedroom closed and he’d dropped his bags to the floor. Stiles blinked at him and then chuckled nervously.

“What? No. Of course I want you here! What gave you that ridiculous idea?”

“You know I can hear it when you lie.”

Stiles silently cursed. It wasn’t like he didn’t want Derek here, per say, it was just that Stiles was a growing boy, sometimes he had crushes, sometimes he needed his space, and sometimes he jerked off at night with a certain werewolf’s name spilling off his lips.

So, yeah. This next week was going to be great.

And very unexciting. 

“I can leave if you want,” Derek said. “I can tell your dad something came up and spend the week at a motel.”

“Oh my god, dude, no, dude,” Stiles said, instantly feeling guilty. “I totally want you here, I’m ecstatic! It’ll be uh… like pack bonding. The Alpha werewolf and his sidekick human. You can help me cook dinner! Unless you’re terrible at cooking. In that case, you can just do the dishes or something.”

Derek was looking at him with a flat expression now. Stiles chuckled and backed toward the door, blindly groping at the knob a few times before he twisted it open. Then he pulled himself out of the room and stumbled back down the stairs.

His dad was waiting for him with crossed arms and a raised brow. “Did you play nice?”

“Did I play nice?  _ Did I play nice?  _ Dad, pops, father-mine, since when did you become a number one Derek Hale fan? You used to be chasing him through town on murder charges, you know.”

“That was two years ago, Stiles,” the Sheriff said with a sigh. “I’m… trying to help. And that means you have to play along too.”

“Okay, okay, geez,” Stiles said, dodging around him. “But just because we have a guest doesn’t mean I’m cutting back on the whole wheat pasta or salads. This is not like spending a week at Grandma’s house.”

His dad frowned and Stiles smirked cheekily, swiping his wallet off the counter.

“On that note, I’m going to pick up groceries and possibly swing by Scott’s to bemoan about how hard my life is. Don’t, uh, get too buddy-buddy with Derek while I’m gone. That’d be weird.”

His dad rolled his eyes. Stiles grinned at him one more time before ducking out of the house.

Internally, he knew he could’ve invited Derek along or at least offered out the option. But Stiles wasn’t prepared to have that much Derek Hale in his life. Not yet. Stiles’s lower body still had a mind of his own and he’d been doing well lately, dammit.

He’d never tell his dad if he picked up a few cartons of ice cream and some chips just in case Derek decided to raid the kitchen. He knew for a fact that the man only kept protein powder and bread at his loft, but maybe Derek would finally eat normally now that he was surrounded by real food. And not just the whole wheat stuff Stiles fed his dad after eating a fast food dinner in secret.

Stiles nearly made it out of the store without having to interact with anyone. But, five feet from the cash register, he recognized a very familiar gruff-looking face. And his heart plummeted into his shoes.

Chris Argent caught his gaze before Stiles could turn away. A small, but not comforting, smile crossed his face and the man started over.

Stiles put on his own smile. He hoped it was just as threatening but he severely doubted it.

“Stiles,” Chris said, surveying his cart. “Weekly shopping trip?”

“Just shopping for the Beacon Hills Sheriff, local Alpha werewolf, and this growing boy,” Stiles said, pointing to himself. Chris’s eyes sparked in interest and Stiles instantly regretted every one of those words. “I mean—”

“You’re harboring Derek?”

Stiles blinked at that. “Uh, harboring? Dude, you make it sound like he’s still a wanted criminal or something.”

“Depending on who you ask, he might be.”

“Okay, look,” Stiles said, narrowing his eyes. “This is some hunter bullshit and I’m not getting in the middle of it. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a carton of triple chocolate chunk ice cream that’s currently melting in my cart and that’s Derek’s favorite.”

That was a total lie, but Stiles comforted himself with the fact that Chris couldn’t possibly know that, brushing by. He felt a little proud as he checked out and shot the man a final smirk before taking off toward the exit.

Chris only smiled back and nodded slightly. Stiles’s smirk ebbed a little.

Due to the unforeseen acquisition of ice cream, Stiles did not swing by Scott’s place. But he’d been gone longer than expected, it was nearing six o’clock, and someone still had to make dinner. Or Stiles’s dad would do the unthinkable and order pizza.

He’d done it before.

Except when Stiles entered the house, laden by grocery bags, he was surprised to find the smell of food already in the air. Ready to lecture his dad into submission if he had ordered take-out, Stiles stalked into the kitchen; only to come to a stumbling stop.

Because Derek was in the kitchen. Derek was in the kitchen, there was an apron wrapped around his waist, and he was  _ cooking.  _ Derek Hale was in his kitchen cooking.

Stiles felt a little faint.

Blinking a few times, he set the groceries on the counter and then proceeded to stare. Derek smirked a little as he caught his gaze. “Good trip?”

“Dude, what the hell is going on in here.”

“Your dad was called into the office,” Derek said, shrugging. “I was hungry.”

“So you didn’t like, oh I don’t know, decide to order a pizza like a normal person? Dude, it literally smells like a fancy restaurant in here. What the hell are you cooking?”

“You said I could help cook dinner,” Derek said. “And it’s chicken parmesan.”

“Chicken… what?”

Derek glanced back at him, raising an eyebrow, and Stiles realized his mouth was hanging open. He firmly snapped it back closed and stumbled to Derek’s side, peering over his shoulder. 

“You’re making chicken parmesan?”

“That’s what I said.”

“In my house. For our dinner. Dude! Have you been replaced by a pod person?”

Derek rolled his eyes and proceeded to dip a fork in the sauce on the stovetop, before shoving it into Stiles’s face. Stiles didn’t have a chance to think, mouth opening automatically, and then the most amazing taste he’d ever experienced was filling his mouth.

“Holy  _ shit _ , Derek.”

Derek’s ears turned red and he pulled the fork back, ducking his head. “Does it taste okay?”

Stiles continued to gape at him. Derek blinked over.

“Stiles?”

“When did you learn cooking?”

The red color faded from Derek’s face and he dropped his gaze again. Stiles automatically clamped his jaw back shut and swallowed hard, turning back toward the groceries.

“Nevermind, that’s none of my business. So, uh… I’m going to unpack these groceries. Want to help me unpack these groceries?”

He was pretty sure he was going to get a fork in the back or something, but to his surprise, Derek moved over and started to help. Silence fell over the kitchen, the only sound being the sauce bubbling on the stovetop and the crinkle of bags.

When Stiles turned back around from putting the eggs away, Derek was standing very still in front of the counter. Stiles cautiously moved over to see him holding the triple chocolate chunk ice cream with a bewildered expression on his face.

Stiles ran a hand through his hair, chuckling nervously. “I bought ice cream.”

“This is my favorite.”

For a moment, Stiles just stared at him. Then he shook his head hard and snapped back to reality. “Dude, are you serious? I just saw ‘lots of chocolate’ and assumed you’d either love it or hate it. Guess I’m psychic!”

Derek glanced over at him with an unreadable look in his eyes. Stiles nervously wet his lips and then Derek blinked, turning away and carrying it over to the freezer.

It was… odd. Or something.

The next hour was awkward silence and by the time the Sheriff came through the front door again, Stiles had never been so relieved to see another human being in his life. The man came into the kitchen, glanced between them, and then sniffed the air, a large smile pulling across his face.

“That doesn’t smell like whole wheat pasta.”

Stiles groaned. “Don’t even go there, dad. I can and will make you a separate meal.”

“Not if you’re kicked out of the house, you can’t. Derek, how do you feel about moving in here permanently? Stiles’s room is already furnished.”

Stiles glared at him and Derek smiled— actually smiled. “I appreciate the offer, sir.”

“But,” Stiles said, shoving between the two. The last thing he needed was them starting to get along. “He won’t take it. Because I need a home, he was a rickety old loft, and if I die out on the streets, Derek will have no one to slam against walls when he’s feeling particularly growly.”

The Sheriff’s eyebrows shot up at that. Stiles smirked over his shoulder, meeting Derek’s deadly calm gaze.

“Isn’t that right, oh Alpha mine?”

“Stiles,” the man growled, eyes flashing red. “Why don’t you get the plates?”

“Why, yes, sir.”

Stiles ducked around his dad, catching the beginning of a pair of rolling eyes, and scrounged around for plates and forks. He didn’t like the way his dad was eyeing the chicken parmesan. Like it was worth throwing his only son out onto the streets and adopting Beacon Hills’s grumpy Alpha werewolf.

See, Stiles wasn’t sure how exactly Derek Hale got into his house. Something along the lines of unfortunate plumbing, angry eyebrows, and charitable fathers. But he was here. Sleeping a door down from Stiles’s. Cooking dinner for the Sheriff of Beacon Hills.

And Stiles had never been more terrified for his lower body in his life.


	2. Chapter 2

Stiles didn’t expect the midnight visitor.

No, scratch that, midnight visitors. Plural. There were three of them. Three betas climbing through his window a little past midnight and Stiles nearly had a heart attack because of it.

He sat straight up in bed and glared at them. Three sets of glowing golden eyes blinked at him and Erica stepped forward, whining softly. “Is he here?”

Stiles blinked at her, the glare melting from his face. The other two shuffled at her back. It took a moment before things clicked.

“...  Derek?”

Erica whined again and Stiles could only stare. Because she looked visibly bothered. She looked distressed.

“Erica,” Stiles said slowly, pushing himself out of bed. If this was some feral werewolf thing that only Derek could fix, Stiles could use any head start he could get. But the expressions on the betas face weren’t hungry or murderous. They were… soft. A little agitated. Like puppies when they’ve been kept outside for too long. “Erica, why do you want Derek?”

“Can’t sleep,” she said quietly. “He’s here, isn’t he?”

“He’s in the next room over, but— Erica!”

Stiles caught her arm before she could make a beeline into the hallway— and in direct line of sight of his dad’s open door. Because Stiles knew the old man thought he was so clever setting it up that way. He’d made it obvious when he’d wished Stiles and Derek goodnight, proceeded to leave the door wide open, and then looked back at them with a  _ smile.  _

Stiles had hated everything then.

He was debating how much he hated everything right now.

Because see, providing a home to the local Alpha werewolf of Beacon Hills was one thing. Providing a home to the local Alpha werewolf of Beacon Hills and his three pups was a whole different request. Stiles already knew there was no way his dad would go for it and he just might bring out the wolfsbane bullets if he saw three golden-eyed figures creeping around his house at midnight.

“My dad is the lightest sleeper you will ever meet,” Stiles said in a hiss, pulling Erica back. "You cannot go out there."

She whined again and he sighed, slowly peeling his fingers off of her arm. Derek wasn’t that far away. And he knew werewolves had super sniffers like nobody’s business. Rubbing at his temples, Stiles glanced from Erica, to the other betas, and then back. 

“If you three sleep in here, will that be close enough?”

Erica blinked at him. Then she looked back at the door and over her shoulders at the others, before shrugging and moving over to Stiles’s bed. The other two followed without hesitation.

Stiles gaped at them. For a moment, he debated pulling them all right back off and making them sleep on the floor, but then he just sighed and crawled into bed too. He didn't have the energy for that. 

Erica pulled him in close, Isaac nestling his head on Stiles’s stomach, and Stiles rolled his eyes, wondering how this had possibly become his life.  Since when was his house a beacon for any and all werewolves?

He wasn’t sure when he fell asleep. Stiles hadn’t meant to— hadn’t expected too— but then Isaac was cuddling closer, Erica was rubbing circles over the back of his hand, and Stiles closed his eyes for one second. And then it was morning.

It took Stiles a moment to realize that.

There was a shadow towering over him and he blinked at it for a few moments before his vision adjusted. And then Stiles startled so hard, he ended up smacking Erica over the head, elbowing Boyd in the stomach, and kicking Isaac off the side of the bed.

The werewolves were up in a second, eyes glowing and fangs bared. Stiles yelped and buried himself under the covers, trying to get away from being cut to ribbons. Standing in front of the bed, his dad sighed.

“Stiles, what the hell is going on in here?”

Stiles poked his head back out. His eyes flicked to the doorway and he was not surprised to see Derek standing there, looking both confused and a little smug. Stiles glared at him for a second, before glancing back at his dad. “Uh, pack sleepover?”

“I didn’t hear anybody come through the front door last night.”

“That's because nobody ever comes through the front door except for you and me.”

The Sheriff looked at Stiles, the window, and then back before sighing again. “So this is a thing now? Do you often have pack sleepovers?”

“Only when Derek Hale is sleeping next door.”

His dad looked over at Derek, who turned bright red. Rubbing a large hand over his face, the Sheriff shook his head and turned away, plodding back out the door. “Feed these three before they go. I’m not having anyone say the Stilinski household doesn’t attend to its guests.”

“The Stilinski household doesn’t often have guests, this isn't a normal thing!” Stiles called after him. The man only waved a hand over his shoulder and disappeared from sight.

Stiles turned a withering gaze toward the betas then. But Derek had already beat him to it.

“Does anyone care to tell me,” Derek said, his voice terrifyingly calm. “Why I was called in here at eight o’clock in the morning to see that my pack had broken into the Stilinski house?”

“Oh, now it’s considered breaking it?” Stiles asked, crossing his arms. “What is it called whenever you come in at ungodly hours of the night, Sourwolf?”

Derek’s face turned red and he bared his teeth a little. Stiles only rolled his eyes, turning back toward the betas. 

“Did seriously none of your super sniffers sniff out my dad before he came in here to check on me? What's the point of having enhanced senses if you don't use them?”

“We were tired,” Erica mumbled. Isaac nodded.

“And your bed is soft.”

“Oh my god,” Stiles said, fighting the urge to bang his head against the nearest solid surface. “Look, Derek is going to be here for a little longer. So I need to know that I won’t be waking up every night to creepy glowing eyes staring back at me. Otherwise, I’m going to have a heart attack before I reach the tender age of nineteen.”

Erica groaned but Stiles held up a finger before she could protest. When he signed up to take Derek Hale on, he didn’t sign up to provide for his pups as well. That was not part of the bargain.

“All three of you downstairs, now. I’ll be down in five to make pancakes.”

“What,” Isaac said, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “Are the parents of the pack going to have a quick chat first?”

Stiles leveled him with his best glare and the beta curled in on himself a little. Boyd wrapped an arm around his shoulder and steered him toward the door, closely followed by Erica.  Stiles finally sighed and glanced back at Derek. 

“I hate your betas sometimes.”

The irritation in Derek’s face had faded and he looked a little bewildered now. Or maybe a little unsettled. Stiles raised an eyebrow.

“Are you going to go downstairs and growl some sense into them, oh Alpha of Beacon Hills? Or will I have to do that myself?”

Derek blinked at him. Then he shook his head and turned away without a word, leaving Stiles wondering how he’d possibly gotten saddled with all of this. It wasn't very fair.

“Fine,” he said, trudging after Derek. “I’ll do it myself.”

The betas were all gathered around the table when Stiles got downstairs and he wondered if this is what having children was like. His dad had left for work and there was a note reading ‘let Derek cook dinner’ on the fridge, which Stiles quickly wadded up and stuck into his pocket

Let Derek cook dinner. As if.

Tonight, they were having whole wheat pasta and salads. Maybe that would scare any and all meat-eating werewolves off.

But the morning wasn’t as… terrible as Stiles had expected. He started the pancakes and while he moved on to make eggs, he noticed Derek jumping in to finish them. The man even added chocolate chips.  _ Chocolate chips.  _ Stiles didn’t realize Derek knew what a chocolate chip was.

Stiles tried not to dwell on that. Or dwell on the small smile and feeling on content that settled over him as the betas dug in with noises of happy satisfaction. 

He glanced over to see Derek with a smug look on his face too. Rolling his eyes, Stiles left the kitchen and the betas behind him.  Because he didn’t sign up for this, he reminded himself. He was never a fan of it in the first place.

Damn werewolves.

* * *

The game was on that night.

Stiles normally avoided all mentions of sports; unless it was baseball, but it was currently football season and he didn’t see the intrigue in that. So when he stumbled down the stairs that night with a sweatshirt hanging off his shoulder and twizzler hanging out of his mouth, prepared to start cooking his precious punishment meal, he was surprised to see two figures sitting on the couch, shoulder-to-shoulder, watching the game.

It was Derek and his dad. Derek and his dad were watching football together.

Stiles choked so hard on his twizzler, it shot out of his mouth and went flying across the room. Derek swiveled around and blinked at Stiles with wide eyes, and the Sheriff turned around more leisurely.

There was a smug look on his face, Stiles noticed. He instantly scowled, moving over with crossed arms.

“Okay, pops, what the hell is going on here? I didn’t approve.”

“You didn’t approve,” the Sheriff said flatly. Stiles shook his head resolutely and the Sheriff looked amused, glancing over at Derek. “My own son thinks he's had the right to not approve of me.”

Derek almost looked like he could smile. Stiles’s mouth nearly fell open.

“Okay,” he said, trying to get a better grasp on the situation. “First of all, when did this happen? Second of all, how did this happen? Third of all—”

“While you were up in your room playing video games with Scott all day, Derek was telling me a little bit about himself,” his dad said, cutting Stiles off. His jaw did drop then, and he blinked from his dad, to Derek, and then back.

“Derek  told you a  _ little bit about himself?” _

“I’m right here,” Derek said in a grumble, shooting Stiles a look. “And you’re standing in front of the TV.”

“You are,” the Sheriff said. “Stiles, either scoot over a little bit, come watch the game with us, or go start dinner. This is a football safe space.”

Stiles didn’t know what to do, staring between the two men sitting on his couch. For some reason, Derek enjoying football had never crossed his head. It hadn’t even struck him as a possible thing. 

“Uh,” he said, shuffling sideways a little bit. “Derek likes… football?”

“There’s not a TV at the loft,” Derek said, eyes fixed on the screen. “I’ve never gotten around to getting one.”

“You want a TV at the loft?”

Derek tore his gaze from the screen to fix Stiles with a flat look. But the whole thing was taking it’s time to sink in. Stiles couldn’t picture a TV in the loft. It was all… bare bed, ratty couch, and concrete floors there. If they wanted a pack movie night, they usually went to Lydia’s lake house. 

Plus, Peter was always there. That was a tainting in itself.

“Derek,” the Sheriff said, pushing himself up as the game cut to commercials. “Can I get you a drink?”

Derek blinked in confusion, staring at the Sheriff for a moment. Then he silently nodded and Stiles’s dad smiled, turning toward the kitchen. Stiles ripped himself out of his shock and stumbled after him.

“Dad, dad,  _ dad,”  _ he said, grabbing one of the beer bottles the Sheriff held and holding it out of reach. “What is going on here? What is happening right now?”

The Sheriff looked pointedly at the bottle Stiles held. “Right now, you’re keeping an illegal beverage from your father, the Sheriff.”

“Not that,” Stiles said, shaking the bottle a little. Fizz started to creep dangerously up the neck. “The fact that Derek Hale is sitting on our couch watching the game. With you. Like a regular person. Not, you know, a grumpy Alpha werewolf who sometimes turns into an actual wolf.”

His dad’s eyes narrowed at that. Then he shook his head and snatched the bottle from Stiles’s hand, popping it and his own open on the counter before starting toward the living room again. “I don’t want to know. But Stiles?”

Stiles straightened. The man turned around and pointed a finger at him, before his face softened. He sighed.

“Go easy on Derek, would you? Slow it with all these... accusations.”

“Accusations?”

“Yes,” the Sheriff said. “Accusations. Now start dinner.”

Stiles stared at him until the man had turned the corner. Then he turned back toward the empty kitchen, blinking dumbly a few more times. Slowly, he moved over to the fridge and ended up staring at it for a moment longer.

“... Accusations?”

Stiles didn’t know what to do with that. Or how he felt about what was happening less than ten feet from where he stood. But instead of trying to linger on those things, Stiles started dinner. It was a distraction.

He didn’t make whole-wheat pasta and salads after all.


	3. Chapter 3

So Stiles decided that maybe Derek Hale wasn’t an enigma, a grumpy Alpha werewolf, or a sometimes murder fugitive. Maybe he was a little less wolf and a little more man.

It really wasn’t as strange of a realization as Stiles had expected it to be.

He found himself coasting through the next few days. Derek helped him cook in the morning and at night, sometimes he did dishes, once Stiles caught him doing laundry, and in the evenings, he’d sometimes sit in front of the TV with his dad and they’d watch whatever was on while drinking beer.

It was so simple, so painfully domestic, Stiles didn’t know what to do with himself.

He was used to Derek being the man who would order them around during training, make the rules when Beacon Hills was being threatened, and sometimes flash his red eyes when one of the other werewolves toed at his lines. 

He was used to Derek who sometimes liked to push him against walls, roll his eyes whenever he talked, and often looked like he was contemplating murder when Stiles offered up one of his best puns. 

He wasn’t used to domestic Derek. It was different. It was strange.

It was kind of nice. 

On the fourth day of their arrangement, Derek got a notice that his loft should be good to return to in two more days. He didn’t cook that evening, he didn’t watch any TV, and Stiles was pretty sure he’d never come out of his bedroom.

Stiles couldn’t sleep that night. He laid in bed staring up at his ceiling and being painfully aware of the werewolf sleeping two doors down, and suddenly that was all he could think about.

It was frustrating. Stiles rolled over with a groan, screamed once or twice into his pillow, and then shoved himself up, stumbling toward the door.

When he peeked out, his dad’s door was closed. Stiles wasn’t sure when that change had occurred but he wasn't complaining. As quietly as he could, he crept down the hallway and then down the stairs. He scrounged around the kitchen for a few more minutes, grabbed two spoons, and then moved back up the stairs as quietly as he could.

He didn’t knock on Derek’s door, slipping carefully inside. There was a lump of blankets on the bed and Stiles approached it carefully, reaching out with one spoon to poke at Derek’s shoulder. 

The man was up in a second, rolling sideways with a soft growl and then leaping to his feet, blankets tangled around his legs. Stiles smothered a yelp and stumbled back, holding up his spoons in surrender.

“Derek!” he hissed as loudly as he dared. “Don’t murder me or anything. I come in peace!”

Red eyes blinked at him. In the dim light, Stiles realized the man was only wearing a pair of boxers and his hair was sticking up in all directions. The brightness of Derek’s eyes slowly faded and then he was just glaring, looking like an angry teddy bear in boxers.

“Stiles,” Derek said. “What the hell are you doing in my room?”

“Your room, eh?” Stiles said, moving over and plopping down on the edge of Derek’s bed. “Getting pretty comfortable here, then?”

Derek’s face did something strange. He studied Stiles as if he’d just grown horns before his gaze zeroed in on the peace offering that Stiles had brought. Then his face did something even stranger.

“Is that ice cream?”

“Triple chocolate chunk,” Stiles said, grinning as he held it up. “I figured we should make sure it gets eaten before you’re gallivanting back to the loft. Otherwise, my dad will take it on himself to finish it off and that’s not good for anyone.”

Derek just stared at him for a moment. Then, carefully, he sat down at Stiles’s side and took an offered spoon. 

Stiles popped the top off the ice cream and dug his spoon in.

“So, Sourwolf,” he said around a bite, watching Derek poke at the ice cream like it was about to grow arms and legs and maybe attack him. “How has Stilinski hospitality been treating you? Don’t be surprised if my dad makes a survey and askes fifty questions before you leave. Apparently, what other people think is extremely important to him.”

Derek gave him a confused, but soft look. Stiles smiled around his spoon, shrugging.

“Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

“It’s been… nice,” Derek said, shoveling a little bit of ice cream onto his spoon.

“Better than a motel?”

“Yes, Stiles, better than a motel.”

Stiles chuckled and heaped on another spoonful. Derek watched with slightly wide eyes and Stiles stuck it all in his mouth and moaned in appreciation, before making a startled choking noise and grabbing at his head.

Derek instantly tensed. “Stiles?”

“Brain freeze!”

The man’s concern faded and he shook his head, rolling his eyes. “You’re such an idiot.”

“Ugh, Sourwolf, my  _ head.” _

Derek only chuckled and proceeded to act like Stiles wasn’t dying next to him. He scooped a slightly bigger amount of ice cream onto his spoon and Stiles couldn’t help staring as his eyes fluttered closed at the taste. Then he couldn’t help staring at Derek’s lips. Then hard at the floor as Derek looked at him and the tips of his ears turned a little red.

“So, yeah,” Stiles said, shuffling awkwardly. “Better than a motel, I'm sure. I’ve gotta admit, it’s been kind of nice having someone else around to do the chores. And dude, laundry! How come you’ve never told me you do laundry?”

Derek didn’t look impressed. “Everyone does laundry.”

“But I didn’t know  _ you  _ did laundry!”

“What did you think I did?”

“I don’t know,” Stiles said, toeing at one of the fallen blankets. “Bought new shirts every time one of yours was too bloodstained to continue wearing? Or wore the same three shirts over and over again until they were literally holding on by their last thread?”

Derek stared at him for a moment. Something in his face changed and he lowered his spoon, nodding quietly. Stiles instantly felt bad.

“I mean, dude, clearly I was wrong. Clearly you’re something of a master chef, really like doing household chores, and know a thing or two about football. That’s fantastic!”

“My dad did all the cooking,” Derek said. Stiles blinked in shock, that being the last thing he’d expected to hear, but he didn't say a word. Suddenly, the entire situation felt like walking on very thin ice. “He wasn't a werewolf and my mother was the Alpha. So she spent her time training Laura, keeping the peace, and doing things that most mothers don’t do. And he took care of the rest.”

Stiles nervously wet his lips. Derek shrugged.

“I wasn’t supposed to be Alpha; that was supposed to go to Laura. So I didn’t need the lessons. Instead, I’d help my dad around the house. Cooking, cleaning, taking care of my siblings. When… when the fire happened, Laura and I went to New York. I didn’t do as much there, but I still did some things. It made everything seem a little less wrong.”

A knot had formed in Stiles’s throat. He stared at Derek’s face for a moment, unsure what to say. Because what did someone say to that?

Stiles knew very well how empty ‘I’m sorry’ was. He knew from experience that there weren’t words that could make everything better. And for some reason, he thought the last thing Derek needed to hear was someone telling him things were ‘going to be okay’.

So instead, he lowered his eyes and chuckled softly. “My mom used to cook the strangest things. She came from a Polish family, so they had all sorts of odd recipes. She started teaching me them from the moment I was old enough to use the blender without sending batter flying everywhere.”

Grey-green eyes blinked quietly at him. Stiles bumped his shoulder against Derek’s, shrugging.

“I only make stuff like whole-wheat pasta for my dad’s diet. And sometimes to mess with him. But we’ll have one of her recipes every other weekend. A little bit of an old memory.”

“That sounds nice.”

“You’ll still be here,” Stiles said, grinning over at the man. “This weekend. You could put those little werewolfy skills to the test and try to follow along to a Polish recipe if you wanted.”

A small smirk tugged at the corners of Derek’s lips. “If I do that, your dad might never let me leave.”

“He does like having you around,” Stiles said. “And uh… so do I.”

Derek’s eyebrows flew up. Stiles snorted.

“Okay, I was a little hesitant at first. But I warmed up to you, Sourwolf! The last thing I expected was to be eating ice cream on your bed at two in the morning.” 

With Derek in his boxers and nothing else, Stiles realized after a moment. His face burned hot and he shuffled, suddenly realizing how close they were sitting together. The ice cream was abandoned over on the mattress and it was probably all melty and gross by now.

Derek must have noticed some things too. Because he cleared his throat and dropped his hands to his side; one falling onto Stiles’s knee. That might've made  Stiles make a strange noise at the back of his throat. And then Derek might have yanked away like he’d been burned.

“Right,” Stiles said, pushing himself up. He grabbed the ice cream and capped it, before shooting Derek a nervous smile. “See you soon.”

Wiggling his hands through the air in a wave, he quickly turned and all but stumbled out of Derek’s bedroom. But the moment the door shut behind him, Stiles went shock-still. He blinked at the opposite wall, not quite seeing it, and then shook his head, cursing internally.

_ “See you soon?” _

He could’ve sworn he heard a chuckle from the opposite side of the door. Quickly, Stiles started back down the hall toward the stairs.

So, he'd had better ideas.

But he’d also had a lot worse.


	4. Chapter 4

The next day, Stiles was pretty sure his dad knew about his late-night excursion.

Because the man kept giving him knowing looks and would arch one brow up, glancing from Stiles, to Derek, and then back. Stiles didn’t know what the hell was going on, but he sure as hell wasn’t okay with it.

But then something else struck him at one point and Stiles stumbled toward Derek’s room, nearly breaking it down in his hurry. Derek was lounging against the bed blackboard reading a book, but he sat straight up when Stiles came barging in. He looked like he’d nearly had a heart attack.

Stiles would laugh later on about that.

“Dude,” he said, trying to lean casually against the door frame but failing terribly. “Where the hell is your uncle?”

Derek blinked at him. Stiles rolled his eyes.

“Peter the Creeper. The one and only who gets under everyone’s skin and has been living in the extra bedroom of your loft for going on a few months now. What the hell did he do when it flooded?”

Derek slowly closed his book and gave Stiles a look like he’d just grown horns. He seemed to consider his question for a second before raising an eyebrow. “Why do you want to know about my uncle?”

“I don’t  want to know,”  Stiles said in exasperation. “But the thought has struck me and now there will be no going back until I have an answer. Did he get a motel?”

“I don’t pay attention to what Peter does,” Derek said, returning to his book. Stiles frowned.

“I mean, duh, but—”

“Stiles, is there more to this visit than coming in to bother me?”

Stiles stared at him. Then, rolling his eyes, he turned away and made sure to slam the door at his back. Whatever. He didn’t need grumpy werewolves or their stupid ‘I don’t care about anyone else’ attitudes.

Instead, he thumbed out his phone and made a call, and less than twenty minutes later, Scott was on his doorstep.

“Dude!” Stiles said brightly, throwing it open. “Thank god you’re here. I’m bored, Scotty, I’m dying of boredom. And Derek Hale, mister ‘I’m too grumpy for anyone but myself’ Alpha werewolf refuses to entertain me.”

Standing on the doorstep looking like a pitiful puppy, Scott also looked confused. He blinked wide brown eyes and tilted his head. “Derek’s here?”

“Uh, yeah, only for like the last five days.”

Scott’s eyes widened. “He’s been here for five days?”

Stiles stared.

He was sure he’d told Scott about his woes. He’d called him on day one, complained over video games on day two, and continued the pattern right up until about now. There was no way Scott hadn’t heard. Or understood. Unless—

_ Allison. _

“Dude,” Stiles said, his positive mood dissipating. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

“Why is Derek at your house?” Scott asked, looking like a kicked puppy. “Stiles, man, you smell like him. This whole place smells like him. Why does this whole place smell like him?”

Stiles stared at the boy for a moment longer and then bit down hard on his tongue, slowly shutting the door again. Scott looked confused again and the moment the door closed, Stiles leaned his forehead against it and silently screamed.

He needed a new best friend. Or maybe an extended getaway period.

Yeah, that’s what he needed. Stiles had to get out of Beacon Hills. Away from supernatural events, away from Alpha werewolves, and away from the betas that follow them around like lost puppies.

Stiles needed a vacation, he decided. A long one.

“Okay,” he said, shoving his palms into his eyes. “We’re going to get through the rest of senior year and then we’re going to get the hell out of Beacon Hills. For at least an entire semester.”

Stiles turned around and then nearly wet himself, yelping and stumbling back as he caught an eyeful of the Alpha werewolf standing only a few feet away. Derek leaned against the doorway and arched a brow, a glass of water in hand.

“Derek, dude, Derek! What the actual hell?”

“Do you often talk to yourself?”

Stiles dropped his hands from his face and glared. The amused expression didn’t quite reach Derek’s eyes. Stiles huffed and started by, until a hand wrapped around his forearm and pulled him back. Stiles made a startled noise and nearly tripped over his own feet.

“Dude!”

“What did you mean by that?”

Stiles blinked at him. Derek let go and looked down into his glass. 

“About leaving?”

Stiles wondered how much of all that he’d said out loud. Sometimes his mouth moved without permission and words came out that were only supposed to be in his head. He stared at Derek for a second before chuckling and running a nervous hand through his hair. “What, semester stuff?”

“Getting away from supernatural stuff.”

Stiles deflated, dropping his hand again. “I dunno, dude,” he said, shrugging. “It’s no biggie. I just like to ramble. You know me, rambling is my talent!”

Derek arched a disbelieving brow. Stiles sighed.

“What am I supposed to say, Derek? That I love chasing around the newest supernatural threat every other week? That I enjoy getting kidnapped every other month? That I live for nearly dying or giving my dad a heart attack when I come home all bruised and bloody?”

“Stiles—”

“I can’t wait to leave,” Stiles said, cutting him off. “Derek, dude, I need a vacation. I need to go to college so far away that the supernatural might as well be a TV show again. I’m  _ tired,  _ Derek. I’m tired of Beacon Hills and everything supernatural in it.”

Derek looked at him for a long moment. Then he set his cup down on the nearest stable surface and turned around, stalking into the kitchen. Stiles heard the unmistakable sound of the back door opening and slamming closed, and just stood there for a moment, unsure what to do.

Then he sighed and rubbed a hand over his face. “Great.”

Just great.

* * *

Derek didn’t come back for the rest of the day. Every time Stiles heard a noise downstairs or outside the house, he was sure the man had finally returned. But every time he flounced downstairs to give Derek a piece of his mind, the house was empty and Stiles realized he was just losing it.

When his dad returned home that night to a still no-Derek household, he wasn’t happy.

“Stiles, what did you do?”

“What did I do?  _ What did I do?  _ Pops, dad, father-mine, why would you assume I did anything? Derek’s just an overdramatic drama queen who acts overdramatic!”

The Sheriff gave him a flat look and Stiles held it for as long as he could before cracking. Rubbing at the back of his neck, he sighed.

“Okay, so I might have gone off about how much I, uh, dislike the Beacon Hills supernatural. But only at the moment! Usually, this place is paradise. Total vacation destination. One moment I was telling Derek about how sucky the supernatural and everything about it was, and the next, he was all grumps and slamming doors!”

Stiles’s dad studied him for a moment. Then he wiped a hand over his face and sighed. “You told Derek you hate everything and everyone supernatural in Beacon Hills?”

“Not  _ everyone.  _ Just the occasional hunter, witch, warlock, werewolf… oh.”

Stiles was pretty sure he hadn’t meant to imply that he hated Derek or his werewolfyness, but he sometimes implied things that he didn’t mean. Like, the fact that he hated Beacon Hills and all the things the supernatural had done to it.

“Dammit,” Stiles said, grabbing his keys and starting toward the door. 

His dad didn’t even stop him, but Stiles could already hear the sound of him dialing the nearest pizza place. He gave the man a threatening look before slipping out the door. 

“No pizza. There are leftovers in the fridge and if you really want something else, there’s dry whole wheat pasta in the pantry. All you need is hot water and a little patience.”

“Son, you have taken up all my patience.”

“No pizza,” Stiles said, pointing a crooked finger at him. “I’ll know.”

The Sheriff sighed but stuck his phone back into his pocket. Stiles grinned and pulled himself out the door, hurrying toward Roscoe.

He wasn’t sure exactly where Derek would go, with the loft being flooded and all, but he had a few ideas. Especially if the grumpy Alpha werewolf was in a grumpy werewolf mindset and felt the urge to punish himself for being said grumpy Alpha werewolf.

Stiles headed toward the preserve.

He hadn’t been to the Hale house in a few months and the sight of it didn’t bring back any positive memories, but Stiles parked the jeep in front of it and climbed out anyway. The sun was setting over the trees and he knew it was going to get dark soon; not that Derek would probably care. 

He didn’t see the man anywhere in the clearing or on the porch, so Stiles started into the house. He shivered at the creak of the wood underneath his shoes and the looming of the walls that didn’t look very stable.

He was pretty sure this place was not structurally sound. 

“Derek?” Stiles called, turning on his phone flashlight and shining it around. There were stains on the walls that he was pretty sure were not paint and shards of glass littered the floor. Stiles picked his way carefully toward the stairs, but he didn’t even want to attempt climbing them.

He didn’t think they’d hold. Even if he was only one hundred and forty-seven pounds of pale skin and fragile bones. 

“Derek, dude,” Stiles said, moving around the stairs instead. “Dude, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to imply that I hate your particular wolf ass. You have a very nice wolf ass. And I tend to like it— you!— more than others. Especially more than your creeptastic uncle who I still have no idea where he is.”

There was an old white mattress thrown in the corner of the room he’d wandered into and Stiles shone his light at it, standing there for a moment. It hit him like a punch to the gut to imagine Derek sleeping here at some point in his life. Surrounded by broken windows, charred wood, and the old memories… he shivered and turned away, not wanting to linger on that thought longer than necessary.

He nearly had a heart attack stepping back into the hallway.

Derek stood near the stairs with his hands shoved in his pockets and his shoulders slightly hunched. Stiles’s flashlight reflected off his eyes and they turned a little red and he yelped, flailing back and nearly stumbling over his own feet. His heart leaped all the way up into his throat.

“Dammit, Derek! What have I told you about terrible human hearing and sneaking up on unsuspecting teenagers?”

“Why are you here.”

“Oh, okay, so we’re going with no question marks now, are we? Well, mister grumpy pants, I’m here to say that my father is very distressed by the fact you’ve been missing all day and, um… so am I?”

Derek raised an eyebrow. Stiles sighed.

“Fine, whatever, don’t give me that look. Dude, when I say I’m fed up with the supernatural, I don’t mean you. I’d never mean you! Because more often than not, you’re the one who makes sure I don’t die or stay kidnapped forever or something. And you know. I, uh, really appreciate that.”

“But you still hate it in Beacon Hills.”

“I don’t hate it in Beacon Hills,” Stiles said softly. “Derek, Beacon Hills is my home, I could never hate it here. I just… remember what it was like before the supernatural, you know? And these past few days have reminded me of it so much. I mean, don’t we deserve a little domestic peace once in a while? Isn’t it fair that we get to sit around eating ice cream and watching TV without worrying about the next big threat?”

Derek looked at him for a long moment. Then he sighed and shook his head. “We should go back.”

“Seriously?”

“What.”

“Don’t ‘what’ me, Derek! You know what, fine, I’ll answer my own question. We do deserve a little peace! And you know what else? I’ve enjoyed these past few days. I’ve freaking loved them and if it wouldn’t be weird, I’d ask you to stay for longer. Because dammit, Derek, it’s been nice!”

Derek stared at him for a long moment. Then he blinked and tilted his head. “You’d have me stay longer?”

Stiles paused and considered his words. Then he winced. “No. Did I say that?”

“Stiles—”

“I like to ramble dude, remember? Don’t take me too seriously. It’s the stress. And the ADD. And whatever else will swiftly get me away from the place and the terrible rejection that’s yet to come.”

_ “Stiles,”  _ Derek said, more emphasis in his voice this time. Stiles deflated and sighed, giving the man a pleading look.

“Please don’t be mad at me. I know you love that loft, but that place is not structurally sound or safe, and my house is much, much better. And I know the pups need somewhere to live, but who really needs the pups anyway? Or… I mean, nevermind. You get to go back to your loft tomorrow! Yay! Let’s go home and eat ice cream and celebrate. And forget this conversation ever happened.”

Stiles was moving as he talked, trying to edge by Derek before the man could stop him. But then there was a hand on his arm and Stiles knew he was no match against werewolfy strength, and he stopped both moving and talking, slowly meeting Derek’s eyes.

“Sorry.”

“What are you sorry for, Stiles?”

“Would you like a video presentation or a list?”

“You’re an idiot,” Derek said, shaking his head. Stiles didn’t know what kind of answer that was supposed to be but before he could ask, Derek had lowered his hand. “Stiles… I can’t stay.”

“I know,” Stiles mumbled. “But I have liked it.”

“But you don’t like the loft.”

“Don’t get me wrong,” Stiles said in a snort. “The loft is a perfect place for a criminal or a serial killer. But Derek, you can’t buy an entire building just because you don’t want to interact with other people! Buy an apartment. Or an entire apartment floor. I don’t care, just something  _ human.” _

“I’m not human,” Derek said quietly. Stiles’s stomach dropped.

“Dude, I really didn’t mean what I said earlier. And I swear to god, big guy, if I ever did leave Beacon Hills, I’d come back. I mean, I have things here! You know, my dad. The pack.”

Derek nodded. Stiles nervously wet his lips.

“You.”

Startled green eyes locked with his own. Stiles chuckled. 

“Don’t look so surprised, Sourwolf, I’d miss all your grunting and growling. I mean, who else would shove me into walls? Who would get all red-eyed and threaten to rip out my throat? Who would—”

Stiles expected a lot of things, but he didn’t expect the man to suddenly be moving forward. He also didn’t expect to feel Derek’s lips on his own, squeaking at the back of his throat and startling so hard, he smacked Derek in the face.

The man yanked back in a second, one hand moving up to cover his left eye and the other glowing red. Stiles was still flailing, reaching up to touch his lips as he stared at Derek and wondered if he’d just died.

“Dude, what the  _ hell?” _

Derek flinched. Stiles’s heart thudded against his chest and Derek was looking a bit like a kicked puppy. His face was red. His eyes slowly faded back to normal. 

“Derek,” Stiles said again as it slowly sunk in. “Derek, did you just—”

“Sorry.”

Stiles froze. “Sorry?”

“... Yes?”

Stiles shook his head and moved forward, catching the man’s lips again. Derek made a noise of surprise and Stiles grinned, carding a hand through his hair and dragging him closer. The man all but melted against him and Stiles hummed softly, delighted in the small growl that earned him.

He’d totally never thought about it, but kissing Derek felt exactly like Stiles had always imagined. His stubble brushed against his face, the man smelled like aftershave and pine, and when his hand wrapped around the back of Stiles's neck, his grip was firm but gentle.

Stiles had totally never thought about it, but he’d wanted to do this since he was an idiot sophomore running into the angry-eyebrowed man in the middle of the forest. Since seeing red eyes and realizing that maybe he wasn’t as straight as he’d always imagined.

Stiles had wanted this since he looked at Derek and realized the man was some sort of home. One Stiles would never understand but would always return to.

“No loft,” Stiles gasped against his lips as the man drew back. “No loft, but an apartment. Dude, you’re going to get an apartment. Somewhere close. Somewhere not in the middle of nowhere. Understand me?”

“You’re such an idiot.”

“And you’re staying at the Stilinski residency under apartment hunting is done.”

“The betas—”

“Can sleep on my floor. Not my bed. The floor.”

Derek chuckled and gentle fingers touched underneath Stiles’s chin, tipping his face up. Stiles caught his flickering red eyes and the man nodded, a smile pulling at the corners of his lips. “Only if you promise to always come back?”

“Come back?”

“Wherever you go,” Derek said softly, his smile ebbing a little. “You’ll come back if you have something to return to.”

“Oh my god,” Stiles said, looking at him fondly. “Dude, I’ll always come back.”

“Don’t call me dude.”

Stiles snorted a laugh and moved forward to catch his lips again. But Derek ducked away and half led, half pulled him out of the house onto the lawn. Stiles was pretty sure his dad was going to start worrying soon; and he was pretty sure the man had ordered pizza. Stiles had a feeling.

He always knew.

“Not in there,” Derek said softly. “Here.”

Stiles smiled and gentle lips brushed against his again. He hummed in appreciation, eyes falling closed. Because yeah, he’d totally never thought about it. But he imagined it’d be something like this.  Something constant and something home.  Something he'd always come back to.

If Derek would only be here to stay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not sure, but I might do an epilogue at some point (so we can have a little more Sheriff Stilinski and his awesomeness). But I had a lot of fun with this work! I just really wanted to write some domestic fluff. Of course, I'd love to hear what you guys thought. You all are amazing!

**Author's Note:**

> I wanted to work on my other fics and then my brain spewed words everywhere that were for a NEW fic. So here we are. But this should be a short one! Three or four chapters probably. Just some fluff for my favorite idiot beans.
> 
> Come hang out with me on Tumblr!
> 
> [the dumpster](https://when-she-writes-stuff.tumblr.com/)


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